


The Velvet Curtain

by Gingerquery (PeppermintTegan)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, F/F, F/M, Just MJ getting the love and respect she deserves, Michelle Jones deserves a hug, Moral Dilemmas, NOT a love triangle, Reconciliation, Singer Michelle Jones, Slow Burn, Vigilante Michelle Jones, a black costume is simply practical, peak vigilantism, semi-noir, when you have a habit of nighttime breaking and entering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintTegan/pseuds/Gingerquery
Summary: "Spider-Man. He's-- he's bad news. Being in the same place as him is going to derail everything. And that's if he doesn't catch us himself. He's New York's favorite son for a reason.""Woah, Meesh, he's not the devil himself," Felicia rebukes, a hand on Michelle's elbow. "I've fought him before. Slipped away from him before. He's not that big of an issue.""You don't--" Michelle cuts herself off.You don't know him like I do, is what she wants to say but that just opens a whole other can of worms, one that puts her even more on edge. In fact, there's nothing Michelle can say that won't give away something about herself as well. So she says nothing.-or-Michelle's world shifts when a Black Cat crosses her path, leading her back to a life of vigilantism she thought she'd left behind. With Spider-Man suddenly back in town, her past and future begin to mix in ways beyond her control.
Relationships: Felicia Hardy/Michelle Jones, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. The Songstress

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of an AU and I'm aware of how silly that is. I've spent several months writing a novel-length Powered Michelle Jones fic only for my muse to say "Cool, yeah, but what if villain?" So here that is.
> 
> If you have tag suggestions, please comment with them. I'm forever at a loss about how to tag my fics.

The night was young but Michelle felt like she'd been standing on this stage for hours. The low lighting and plucky bass behind her did nothing to stave off the weariness in her bones; rather, it seemed to call her to close her eyes and rest not unlike a rocking cradle. To fight the siren song of sleep, she emboldened her own. Her voice moved from low crooning notes of the bridge to the bold final chorus of the band's last song. _Of this set_ , she has to remind herself. They're only now approaching their equivalent of a lunch break, if you can call it that at 10:30 pm.

She slinks from the stage as the lights dim and Justin announces that they'll be back after a short break. Normally that's her task but she's not in the mood to talk more than necessary.

"Michelle, you want to join us?" Miguel asks in his clipped Quebecois accent. There's an unlit cigarette already gracing the fingers of his left hand. While the bar allowed indoor smoking, the stage was prohibited territory. Something about a curtain catching fire a few years ago.

"Maybe in a bit," she tells him with a head tilt toward the women's restroom. He nods, bringing the cig to his lips and slipping out the back door of the establishment where the other band members are undoubtedly waiting.

She strides toward the restroom but passes it up, instead slipping into the next door beyond it. Once a literal closet, it's now her dressing room. Fairy lights weakly illuminate the space, bringing a shimmery quality to her dress which she can see in the floor length mirror. She smiles at her reflection. The meek, self-conscious woman of her past is long gone and the Michelle of today would freely admit that she's attractive. Some days.

Moving on from the mirror, Michelle kicks an old soup can out of her way as she turns to plop into her one creature comfort in this cramped space: a roadside rescue recliner. Worn down from years of love by its previous owner, Miguel and Emily helped her haul it in the back door one morning while the proprietor of the establishment was busy counting the bar's earnings. It might as well be made of clouds with how soft it is.

While her conscious brain has committed to a power nap, her subconscious is as alert as ever and absolutely notices the unnatural way the shadows in the corner shift. She rises in an instant, her hand resting on the dagger she has strapped to her thigh under her dress -- one can never be too careful and pepper spray in an enclosed space results in mutual pain. Fortunately for her visitor, that's as far as she gets before she recognizes them.

"One of these days, you're going to regret not greeting me like a normal person," she tells the shadows as they coalesce into a familiar and usually welcome sight.

"Where's the fun in that?" Felicia asks.

"Why does it always have to be about what's fun instead of what's smart?" Michelle retorts, seriously considering pulling the knife anyway.

"Well, last night was fun," Felicia answers with a finger tapping her pouting lips, "but it wasn't exactly smart."

In lieu of response, Michelle just collapses back into her recliner with a hefty sigh. Last night is the reason she's so tired now. A woman can only dodge so many bullets before it starts to take a toll on her. The job was supposed to be simple -- in, out, without a trace -- but as Felicia said, "fun" took precedence over "smart" and the duo found themselves trying to crack a safe they hadn't known was there until they set eyes on it.

Michelle lets her eyes fall shut, asking to the room, "Did you need something Fe?" She feels the chair shift as the lithe woman finds space for herself beside Michelle. She leans into the warmth of her sometimes companion and sighs for entirely different reasons.

"Can't a girl just visit her gal pal?" Felicia offers, resting her head on Michelle's. Despite her height, the silvermaned woman manages a few inches more in total.

"It would be a first," Michelle mumbles.

Felicia purses her lips. She _had_ come to talk business. Their slip up last night had put some new eyes on them, eyes that Felicia had hoped to never see again. Yet as Michelle's breathing shifts into the calm, consistent waves of someone in slumber, she finds that she doesn't mind waiting to have this particular conversation.

When Michelle wakes with her alarm fifteen minutes later, there's no evidence of her visitor beyond a smudge of black lipstick high on her cheek.

Miguel hands her a small cup of coffee when they reconvene off-stage, nodding his head in sympathy. It's not the first time she's had to sneak some shut-eye while on the clock and she's not the only one either. Last month, they found Emily curled up inside her spare bass drum and collectively took a moment to wonder how she'd managed and if it was comfortable. 

Downing the coffee in one go and biting back a grimace at the burnt taste, Michelle spins once on the spot to center herself. It's hard to get her center back once she's on stage -- something about the dozens of eyes she can feel but not see -- so she does it before. The woman she is when in front of the crowd is a character. Capable, confidant, even sexy, and very much not Michelle. The chalkboard at the front door _does_ call them _Mary Jane and the Jazz Cats_ after all. 

Long legs carry her up the short steps, drawing the attention of the attendees. Some express their excitement for the music's resume with cheers and cat calls. Michelle ignores them. They may be the source of her paycheck but they're not who she sings for. 

"Ready, boys?" Michelle tosses coyly over her shoulder at the band. Miguel grins past his trumpet, Emily touches the brim of her derby hat, and Justin answers by laying down the beat with his double bass. The plucky beat brings a smile to her face immediately. [One of her favorites](https://youtu.be/tZ11_y5I3EY), this song is a surreptitious ode to those that aren't fooled by sharp suits and ties; that know where society's problems really lie. A little faster than what they'd usually play this time of night, Michelle is grateful for Justin's tact. This is just the pick-me-up she needed to reinvigorate her for another two hours on stage. 

Her voice springs out to fill the space and her mind has already wandered. She knows this one so well she could sing it in her sleep but more than that, it feels like an anthem to her own life. Singing it here, in front of a crowd that doesn't know her and band members that only think they do, feels like an exhibition. Only she understands how this performance harkens to her _other_ nighttime activity. 

Her eyes drift over the crowd, taking note of the tailored suits and ties, the greedy eyes. Some are surely thinking about business dealings and money to be made. Others are greedy for reasons that have entirely to do with the songstress lit by stage lights. Michelle has learned the difference over the last year. Both like to consider themselves predators but neither is a threat to her. Instead, once is prey and the other a snack for her companion. 

As if she could hear Michelle's thoughts, Felicia glides from the shadows, wearing a green dress that does wonders for her pale skin and green eyes. She places a hand on the back of a man Michelle has never seen before and glances to the stage. Her eyes catch Michelle's and she bites her lip as Michelle bites back a snort that would ruin the closing bars of the song. Michelle turns away to check on her bandmates and by the time she turns back, Felicia and the man are gone.

-~-~-

Michelle startles awake to the sound of someone making a ruckus in her kitchen. The sun beams low through her dirty bedroom window, telling her that it's morning but, miserably, before her alarm. After double checking that she didn't go to bed in a partial state of undress last night, she grabs the pistol tucked under her mattress and creeps toward her bedroom door. She only has to lean past the frame a few inches to see the intruder and when she does, she can't help but exclaim.

"Felicia! For fucks sake! You can't just sneak in here!" 

Michelle tucks the gun into the waistband of her sweats -- having never even taken the safety off -- and marches into the kitchen. Felicia has the audacity to look put out as she mixes something in a beat up plastic bowl.

"I'm making you pancakes!" Felicia replies as if that explains anything at all.

"I could have shot you!"

"But you didn't."

Michelle groans with her fingertips on her temples. This isn't the first time Felicia has snuck -- scratch that, _broken_ \-- into Michelle's shitty studio apartment. The silvermane comes and goes as she pleases, interrupting Michelle's sleep or studytime and ignoring her complaints. It doesn't matter than she ends up in Michelle's arms more often than not. It's the principle of the thing.

"Why are you here?" Michelle grinds out and it's far softer than she intends. Felicia looks down, an expression Michelle isn't used to seeing on her flickering past her eyes.

"Business," Felicia supplies, "and some bad news."

"So I can assume these are apology pancakes?"

Felicia scoffs, regaining some of her usual gusto. "I just wanted to make you pancakes. Totally unrelated."

"Right," Michelle concedes, drawing it out so it lines up with her eyeroll. Even so, a sardonic grin pulls at the corners of her mouth. She leans back against the counter only to grimace when the pistol presses into her spine. She places it on the counter and repeats the motion.

"So, hit me. What's the bad news?"

Felicia doesn't reply immediately, concentrating on pouring the batter into a cast iron pan Michelle's dad gave her when she moved out last year. It isn't until four lumpy, unequal blobs of batter are sizzling away that she faces Michelle.

"Remember how the Tuesday job went sour so fast?" Felicia begins. "Well now I know why. We weren't the only rabble rousers on the premises. Turns out the safe we tried to crack contained more than just bills and whatever it did contain has the interest of New York's very own."

Michelle's eyebrows crease deeply as she finishes the title in her head. "No. No, he hasn't been in the city in months. Why now?"

Felicia shrugs. "Not sure, but I do know that he hates the Maggia just as much as you and me. The guy I snatched at the bar last night was one of Joseph's personal guards and just would not shut up about how much of a pain it was to deal with Black Cat, Shadowmane, and Spider-Man all in one night." She pulls a spatula from a drawer to flip the pancakes. "He must have done something that caused them to rally their forces or tighten security, making a mess for us without ever crossing paths."

Michelle places a hand over her mouth, deep in thought. It makes sense for him to be back in New York; he's would have just finished his first semester of college, same as her. Ample free time and no long-term responsibilities are a vigilante's best friends. But for him to be also hitting the same target she and Felicia are... It twists something in her gut.

"We have to call off the mark on Joseph Maggia," she declares.

"What? Why?" Felicia looks at her like she's grown a second head or maybe recommended radically changing their vigilante plans for the next two months without explanation.

"Spider-Man. He's-- he's bad news. Being in the same place as him is going to derail everything. And that's if he doesn't catch us himself. He's New York's favorite son for a reason."

"Woah, Meesh, he's not the devil himself," Felicia rebukes, a hand on Michelle's elbow. "I've fought him before. Slipped away from him before. He's not that big of an issue."

"You don't--" Michelle cuts herself off. _You don't know him like I do_ , is what she wants to say but that just opens a whole other can of worms, one that puts her even more on edge. In fact, there's nothing Michelle can say that won't give away something about herself as well. So she says nothing. For as close as she and Fe are, there's a gulf between them with respect to their personal histories. Today is not the day to build that bridge. 

She tugs on her thumbnail with her front teeth, a bad habit from days gone by. "Okay. You're right," she lies, stepping closer to Felicia and nudging their shoulders together. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm not used to dealing with capes outside of the two of us. Got a little worked up."

Felicia puts an arm around her shoulders and lips to her temple, accepting the apology silently. Michelle tries not to compile a list of all the ways their plan can go wrong with Spider-Man in the picture as Felicia pulls down a plate for their overcooked pancakes.


	2. Past and Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man comes across someone unexpected while on assignment, leading him to ask questions that he's not sure he wants the answers to.

Fighting the Maggia is decidedly not how Peter wanted to spend his first college summer vacation. There's other people to deal with this stuff, the same people who have been dealing with it when he's not around. And yet, it took all of two sentences from Jessica Jones to convince him to bury his chill beachside plans and dig up his notes on one Joseph Maggia. Something about an "important client" losing their livelihood to the man's craven whims.

The Maggia were an old crime family dating back to the 20s and so spread out by this point that its getting hard to remember who is who. The complicated interplay of parentage, patronage, and payroll makes following threads an exercise in theory crafting more than real investigative work. He's seen Jessica's "web of facts", more string than not. Within a week he'd thrown in the towel and asked her to just give him a mission and a date. She happens to be someone he trusts with his life so trusting her decision-making ability is easy.

That's how Peter finds himself in his black Spidersuit on hour two of an afterdark stakeout outside a really normal looking upscale apartment building in Astoria. From his perch, he can see the power substation where he defeated Electro last summer and otherwise literally nothing of interest. He blinks his eyes blearily, wondering if he can get away with a nap by webbing himself to the chimney behind him.

"Activity in the penthouse on the eighteenth floor," Karen notifies him, dashing any hopes of shuteye. "Alarms have not been activated but lights are still off."

"That's weird," Peter muses. "Maybe someone's just getting a glass of water?"

"The movement originated from the west side of the building on the lower floor of the penthouse whereas the bedroom is on the second floor."

"Well there's no harm in checking. Plot out the camera sightlines for me, if you don't mind, Karen."

Peter yanks himself into the open air, avoiding the realtime 3D map of orange zones Karen projects like he's in a videogame. Letting even his toes dangle into a camera's view could jeopardize the overall mission. He'd already been spotted in Maggia territory once; it won't take much for someone to start putting together a pattern of sightings. As he makes his way to the far side of the building, he spots a narrow window with no camera coverage and webs straight to it.

"The window appears to already be open," Karen supplies helpfully.

"Yes, I can see that. Any idea why?"

"From the smudge marks on the sill and the damage to the latch, I would assume someone has recently broken into the building via this window."

Peter looks down at the traffic passing below. The endless honking is drowned out by the persistent wind at this height. "Who the hell would break into a building this high up? Who could?"

"Building a list now. There are thirty-four candidates in Queens who possess the skillset to-- Someone is coming."

Karen alerts him at the same time his Spidey Sense flares so he's already atop the building when a long, slender leg clad in black extends out the window to find purchase on a ledge too small to really be called a ledge. A body follows it, just as long and slender. Peter knows who it is before the signature cat ears even make an appearance.

Black Cat.

The burgler whispers something too quiet for his superhuman senses to understand and giggles before tossing a grappling hook to the roof in a blind throw. It bites down on the brick a foot to Peter's left, sending him into a panic. Looking desperately around the roof for cover, he elects to instead dive off the side and stick in a windowless alcove. Here, out of sight of both the roof and Black Cat's current position, he has to rely on his other senses. He hears her scale gracefully up the side of the building and can imagine the sway of her hips as she confidantly struts from the edge. 

Peter closes his eyes to focus harder on hearing her, aided wordlessly by Karen activating reconnaisance mode. For a few seconds, there's nothing to hear but the crunch of roof gravel. Then he hears a voice that is very much not Cat's.

"I can't believe people are still using tubular core locks on their safes. Don't they know how easy they are to pick? All the fingerprint scanners in the world can't stop a fifteen dollar tool from eBay."

Cat laughs and Peter hears a zipper, presumably their gear bag. "I'm going to stop bringing you along if all you'll do is critique their lock choices."

"They're millionaires, Cat," the mystery voice sneers. "They can afford better locks."

"So you want them to make our jobs harder?"

"I mean, a little challenge wouldn't hurt."

Hearing his cue in the form of a quip opening, Peter flips backwards over the edge of the roof to land dramatically a safe distance from Cat and her companion. Both figures are clad entirely in black and it takes him a second to actually zero in on Cat. Karen helps with an overlay tagging both appropriately.

"Dealing with me must be a real challenge already if Cat brought on a partner. Hi, I'm Spider-Man." He extends his hand jovially.

Cat smirks as expected but the other person flinches hard and teleports to Cat's other side, opposite Peter.

"Woah, hey, didn't mean to scare you," he tells them and immediately feels ridiculous for having done so. 

The dull lighting from the nearby buildings illuminate the companion differently in their new spot, revealing a feminine figure, full face mask, and hair that seems to be made of inky black smoke. It billows out behind them, ignorant of the direction of the wind. Something about the smoke tickles the back of Peter's brain, like a memory half forgotten. Other than the hair, their outfit is discrete to the point of being boring: black bodysuit and minimal toolbelts. Considering his own current outfit, he can respect that costume decision.

"So what bring you two to this side of town?" he asks, trying not to be hurt by the shadow person's harsh reaction.

"None of your business, Spider," Cat replies smoothly, like she's said it a hundred times before. She probably has.

"Breaking and entering is a crime, Cat. I can't let that slide." The words come from his mouth without thought. They're following a script now, borne of his many previous encounters with Black Cat. They've pursued each other back and forth across this city over the last two years, crossing paths with startling consistency during his weekend trips home. 

Black Cat laughs, mockingly. "What do you call your little visit to Zeke's mansion on Tuesday, then? A house call? You're playing the same game we are, Spider."

Peter scratches the back of his neck abashedly. He'd hoped to keep that infiltration quiet but just one more guard in rotation than he'd planned for sent the whole thing out of whack. Stranded in a dead end corridor surrounded by locked doors, he'd had no choice but to make a messy escape. How Cat caught wind of that, he's not sure.

"It's for the greater good," he tries.

"And this isn't?" she replies, gesturing broadly to indicate the building below. "Same mark twice in a row makes me think we're on the same side this time, Spider, even if you won't admit it."

Peter narrows his eyes and his mechanical ones narrow to match. "Since when do you care about the greater good?"

"Call me a changed woman." She glances over her shoulder at her companion who snorts in amusement.

"And who is your friend?" Peter inquires. During their converstion, Karen had been running through a massive list of known enhanced people operating in the New England area. The list is getting shorter by the moment as she eliminates potential suspects but a straight answer from the person themself would be preferable. 

Peter and Cat are both looking at the mystery partner now, expecting an answer. Cat seems confused by their hesitancy which Peter takes as a sign that their earlier talkativeness is more the norm.

"Shadowmane," they finally answer, tying the voice Peter heard as Cat clambered out the window to the person in front of him. 

"There's no record of a Shadowmane in the database," Karen informs him, "but the darkness power matches a signature last detected nine years ago, five of which were the Blip."

"That's an appropriate name," Peter tells Shadowmane, nodding appreciatively. To Karen he whispers, "What's the signature?"

"Your second nemesis, Blackout, had similar powers. Alias--"

"Michelle Jones," Peter whispers, cutting Karen off and narrowing his eyes at Shadowmane. 

"Do I know you from somewhere?" he asks them directly. "I feel like I know you."

Cat seems to notice something amiss about the interaction and steps in. "Going behind my back, Spider? I thought I was the only girl for you." The quip doesn't land with the same nonchalance as her normal flirty banter. There's a tension to it, similar to the way her voice sounded the one and only time she'd gotten shot in Peter's presence. That was an uncomfortable night for them both. He never expected to be the one doing the patching up on someone else.

Peter doesn't have a response for her. The whole situation is starting to feel very wrong, like a threeway standoff with no guns and a whole lot of secrets bursting to spill. He glances back and forth between Cat's 90%-smile-10%-grimace and Shadowmane's tense shoulders. For the first time since popping up to the roof, he realizes that he's outnumbered. Taking a few steps back with what he hopes in a casual shrug, he makes the decision to push this all off for another night.

"You're going after Joseph Maggia. I am too. You have my number." With a finger gun at Cat, he tumbles from the roof, his heart in his throat.

-~-~-

"Run it again."

"Peter, I am 92.7% sure the voice recorded last night matches that of Michelle Jones. Further tests are unlikely to change this result."

"Fuck." 

Peter stands, running his fingers through his unruly hair. His suit lays discarded on the floor beside his beat up bunkbed, replaced with sweats and a shirt that is stained with something red, maybe tomato sauce, maybe blood. That's probably why the shirt stayed in his dresser here in May's apartment instead of going to Cambridge with him. The only light source in his tiny bedroom is the parallel beams of streetlight through his blinds and the glow of Karen's UI, displaying the stacked results of nearly thirty voice pattern analyses.

"Combining the vocal assessment with the power signature database, I am over 99% sure Shadowmane is the new alias of Michelle Jones, formerly Blackout," Karen continues helpfully.

"What's the 1%?" Peter inquires. He doesn't actually care, it's just for the sake of knowing.

"Point-nine-two that she has a previously unknown sibling or clone. Point-aught-three combined margin for error."

Peter slumps down onto his bed, head held in his hands. For Michelle to resurface now, years after moving abruptly to Chicago, with a new persona and a connection to Black Cat of all people.... It tugged hard at the believable. Michelle hated his guts. What could have brought her back to New York? Was she here for college? Job opportunities? Was it something to do with Black Cat in particular? 

"Karen, give me everything you have on Michelle Jones."

"Access denied," she replies pleasantly. Her UI turns red as the prompt for his request appears. "You told me on May 5th, 2017 to lock down any inquiries into Michelle Jones' whereabout or activities."

"Right. Of course I did." He sighs, long and tired. "Override, Alpha Sierra Two Five Six Five."

"Access granted. What do you want to know?"

He doesn't answer right away. The question is too heavy for how simply Karen said it. Nine years ago, four from his perspective, since Peter last saw Michelle Jones and he's wondering what the hell he did to deserve her coming back now. And why it feels like a punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An internet cookie (is that still a thing?) to whomever can figure out the reference made by the override code Peter uses.
> 
> If you liked this chapter, drop me a comment. If you hated this chapter, still drop me a comment. They sustain my ethereal form all the same.


End file.
